Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Mr. Ashbury is completely smitten by his new best friend—Tuffy the puppy. Now twenty-three weeks old and a robust five and a half pounds, the little fur ball is firmly ensconced as a member of the family.

While we were in Kansas City for RT in early May, our daughter came to stay here at our house. She brought her three Chihuahuas with her, and as far as Tuffy was concerned, it was a great, 8 night long sleep-over with his best canine buddies.
That’s sleep-over as in he, and my daughter, and her dogs all slept in our bed. Does anyone imagine that after that love fest, Tuffy would agree to return to sleeping at night in his “play pen”?

Mr. Ashbury is delighted, of course, since he has wanted the puppy to sleep on our bed with us since day one (actually the puppy did sleep on the bed day one, unbeknownst to me).
Tuffy is very happy to see his daddy when he steps in from work each evening—just as our old dog was. The difference—other than size—is that Tuffy the puppy doesn’t really like going for a walk.
He’s not a lazy dog. He simply does not like to go for a walk. He’d rather just play.

Of course, Mr. Ashbury sort of understands the concept that puppy = child and puppy owner = adult. He takes Tuffy for a walk most days if the weather conditions are ideal. And, of course, the good news is that if the little guy tries to pull against his leash, he’s not dislocating Mr. Ashbury’s shoulder in the process.

Now that the heat of summer has begun, Tuffy has a new “hair style”. We’d taken him to a groomer near us about a month ago. As it was his first visit to the lady, the appointment comprised a bath and brush with a tiny bit of clipping, to introduce him to the concept. This groomer doesn’t believe in forcing things on a pup. She wants them to think of the process of being groomed as something fun. Last Friday he had his second appointment. This time, with the help of her own dog who served as distraction, she was able to accomplish what was needed.

Tuffy is no longer a scruffy puppy. The difference in his appearance is amazing. His fur which had been very long is now barely an inch, and he has legs! We didn’t know he had such long legs, because he was such a puff ball of long, shaggy fur.
Tuffy appreciates the new style—if not the process—as it is cooler for him.

The little guy is now five months old, and he has hit—relatively speaking—the terrible twos. He likes to filch shoes and slippers, though he doesn’t inflict any real damage on them (yet). He has learned how to jump down from the sofa, and tries really hard to get the cat’s dinner each night. He’s taken to sleeping in the bed very well, and if he and his daddy go to bed before I do, I can be assured that when I do retire for the night, Tuffy will be laying in the vicinity of my pillow.

He’s curious about everything, and he likes everybody. He’s the eternal optimist, in that he will not give up on the hope that one day the cat will, indeed, play with him.

And he’s brave. He doesn’t hesitate to put himself between us and perceived danger. When he growls, there can be no doubt that he means business. He must have a good memory because he growls at the cat window—the place those scary looking racoons appeared a few weeks ago.
Tuffy Ashbury is the true embodiment of that maxim, “it’s not the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.

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